The Deliverance: A Romance of the Virginia Tobacco FieldsGlasgow, Ellen Anderson Gholson
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The Deliverance: A Romance of the Virginia Tobacco Fields
Glasgow, Ellen Anderson Gholson
Tobacco farmers -- Fiction; Virginia -- Fiction
Before the beauty of Maria's high magnanimity Christopher had
felt himself thrust further into the abasement of his
self-contempt. Had she met his confession with reproach, with
righteous aversion, with the horror he had half expected, it is
possible that his heart might have recoiled into a last
expression of defiance. But there had been none of these things.
In his memory her face shone moonlike from its cloud of dark
hair, and he saw upon it only the look of a great and sorrowful
passion. His wretchedness had drawn her closer, not put her
further away, and he had felt the quiet of her tolerance not less
gratefully than he had felt the fervour of her love. Her
forgiveness had been of the grandeur of her own nature, and its
height and breadth had appealed, even apart from her emotion, to
a mind that was accustomed to dwell daily on long reaches of
unbroken space. He had been bred on large things from his
birth--large horizons, large stretches of field and sky, large
impulses, and large powers of hating, and he found now that a
woman's presence filled to overflowing the empty vastness of his
moods.
Reaching the yard, he saw Tucker sitting placidly on his bench,
and, crossing the long grass, he flung himself down beside him
with a sigh of pleasure in the beauty of the scene.
"You're right, Uncle Tucker; it's all wonderful. I never saw such
a sunset in my life."
"Ah, but you haven't seen it yet," said Tucker. "I've been
looking at it since it first caught that pile of clouds, and it
grows more splendid every instant. I'm not an overreligious body,
I reckon, and I've always held that the best compliment you can
pay God Almighty is to let Him go His own gait and quit advising
Him; but, I declare, as I sat here just now I couldn't help being
impertinent enough to pray that I might live to see another."
"Well, it's a first-rate one; that's so. It seems to shake a body
out of the muck, somehow."
"I shouldn't wonder if it did; and that's what I told two young
fools who were up here just now asking me to patch up their first
married quarrel. 'For heaven's sake, stop playing with mud and
sit down and watch that sunset,' I said to 'em, and if you'll
believe it, the girl actually dropped her jaws and replied she
had to hurry back to shell her beans while the light lasted.
Beans! Why, they'll make beans enough of their marriage, and so I
told 'em."
Tapping his crutch gently on the ground, he paused and sat
smiling broadly at the sunset.
For a time Christopher watched with him while the gold-
and-crimson glory flamed beyond the twisted boughs of the old
pine; then, turning his troubled face on Tucker's cheerful one,
he asked deliberately:
"Do you sometimes regret that you never married, Uncle Tucker?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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